Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Heir
by biellby
Summary: As Harry Potter's sixth year begins, the fight for the Wizarding World is on the verge of becoming a full-fledged war, a prophecy looms, and with the discovery of Voldemort's grandson, even Hogwarts isn't safe. Percy Jackson is more worried about laying low than his new relations. But fate is tricky and the best laid plans often go awry. And of course, fate has always hated him.
1. A Little Bird Told Me

_Scottish Highlands_

Severus Snape shifted, but no matter what anyone might have thought, it was not in impatience. He was a spy (who if not good, was adequate enough), gifted in the art of subtlety, master of self-control, and absolutely in control of his own body. He did not deign to squirm in a seat like a scolded school boy, even if at times, he felt as young and foolish as he once had been, especially in the Headmaster's office.

He was adjusting himself for comfort, nothing more, nothing less.

Albus Dumbledore breezed into the room, settling into his chair swiftly. "Impatient, aren't we?" he observed more than asked, one eyebrow raised.

Severus scowled. "At least I can fool one master," he muttered.

Albus smiled, though worryingly, it did not meet his eyes. "Have more faith. You do not fool yourself, my friend, and that places you leagues ahead of many a man."

He wanted to laugh. Severus Snape might have once believed himself to be above the common man, but over the years, it had become abundantly clear to him that in terms of character, he would always fall behind, scrambling to make up for the unforgivable. And with the Dark Lord well and truly back these days, his past sins seemed especially glaring.

"I don't need to be flattered," he said. "What are the next steps?"

The game had well and truly changed, in just one night. Potter and his band of fools had torn up the Ministry, Fudge had finally used his limited brain capacity and recognized the return of the Dark Lord, and Black, even more useless than Potter, had died.

Severus viciously shoved down the discomfort he felt at the thought. He had done what he could have done, and there was no room for regret.

No longer would the war be waged from the shadows, which made his own position that much more precarious. Eventually, Severus would be forced to make his loyalty known, in one scrimmage or another, or, he would have to kill innocents again. Both of those options were rather distasteful.

"Officially," Albus started, delicate. "The Ministry will release the news of Voldemort's continued existence tonight. They are united in their efforts to put an end to him and ensure the safety of witch and wizardkind, as well as our ways."

So, the Ministry was torn between action and keeping the purebloods lining its pockets content.

"They're useless," Severus surmised.

"Unofficially," Albus continued, ignoring (and in so, confirming) him. "I, and the Order, will be continuing to use the same tactics we've employed the past year. Recruitments will be easier with the public acknowledging Voldemort, but unfortunately, the same goes for our enemy. And as for Harry, I believe he'll be safest this summer without Auror protection, so we'll be following the same protocol as last July until I can arrange for safe transportation elsewhere."

"Where will that be?"

Albus simply leveled a look at him. Severus fought the urge to shift once more and rephrased his question to something more suitable. Something he'd be trusted to know.

"What will you have me do?"

Albus hesisted, and once more, he noticed the subtle signs on the Headmaster's face: bags clear under his eyes, a less than focused gaze, a thin mouth. The man was truly distracted, with something not related to the fight.

It was the last thing they needed.

"Your classes will be covered for the rest of the term. When you are not reporting to Voldemort, I need you to investigate a family in America," he finally said, and despite himself, Severus could feel his mouth falling open.

"What?" he asked, truly baffled. Magic did not exist, for lack of a better word, in the States, making it a non-entity in the Wizarding World. He had heard stories of war criminals fleeing there, but even that did not fit, as no self-respecting Death Eater would voluntarily live powerless, not even for safety.

He would know.

"I spoke to a variety of figures last night at the Ministry on a variety of topics. A young lady from The Improper Use of Magic Office, in particular, had the idea of using the Trace to monitor activities of the children at risk for joining the Death Eaters, to head them off of it, I assume.

It wouldn't pass, of course, not with the current heads, but in the course of our conversation, she suggested altering the system she currently uses to discriminate between relevant and irrelevant breaches."

Here, Albus paused, for what Severus could only assume was dramatic effect.

"One type of irrelevant breach she noted was false alerts, one of which repeatedly came from the New York area in the past year. I asked her for a copy of the reports, and-"

Severus cut him off. There was no way something so innocuous would grab Albus's attention, unless… "What about New York is so important?"

This time, Albus shifted. He knew it.

"I'll get to its significance in a moment. The reports took place this month, on a near daily basis. All of which were registered to one person: a Perseus Jackson, age sixteen."

Albus waved his wand, conjuring the papers for Severus to see. Sure enough, in a neat row of dates and locations, all of which were heavily populated with Muggles, the name Perseus Jackson was recorded, with a blank following.

"No spells are recorded," he observed.

"I noticed," Albus said dryly. "But, I suppose, if he is indeed a wizard, he would not be casting any particular spells without training, much like the accidental magic of our own students."

Others would have questioned the sanity of the Headmaster. But Severus had worked for him for years now and knew the man would only be presenting this information if he had already mostly confirmed his beliefs. Perseus Jackson was a wizard.

Instead, Severus asked, "Do you think this Jackson's sudden powers are unique only to him?"

He was well aware he only had a slim portion of the picture, and he struggled to keep his mind from racing over the possibilities such a revelation could lead to. Magic returning to the States as suddenly as it had faded in the eighteenth century? Wizards who had retained their abilities in hiding and were now able to join the Dark Lord's crusade?

Albus laughed, a surprised sound. "I believe so. Well thought, Severus. You see, I once taught a relative of his here at Hogwarts. And spoke briefly to another one, who had made her plans of emigration to New York clear in our discussion."

"So you think the family's magic lied innate upon arrival, until it was somehow awakened in the boy. What could cause such a thing?"

The headmaster simply hummed. "I cannot claim to know. But it does seem that you have a working theory to explore."

Damn him. He knew that once Severus was interested in a mystery, he would be invested until the end.

But one answer still eluded him. "Why bother now, of all times? Wouldn't it be more prudent to focus on the Dark Lord only?"

Albus's face was grim as he sat, silent. Yet another secret Severus was unworthy to hear, it seemed.

The moment laid heavy, yet just as quickly, faded away as they moved onto the next topic. There was still a war to plan, and however Jackson factored into it, he was still ultimately a minor piece.

And besides, Severus would find out in due time.

"Now, I fear how his father's arrest might affect the Malfoy boy's own chances at survival…"

_Cokeworth, England _

Alice Buckman eyed the man hunched over one of their computers from her desk, half with interest and half with worry.

He seemed like he had seen better days, the poor thing. Pale, with dank, unwashed hair, and a scowl that hadn't lessened since he entered the library. With his skinniness and odd clothing, she had first pegged him as another strung-out addict coming to crash in an air-conditioned public place.

She really hadn't minded. The old librarian had taken issue with it, but Alice had a soft spot for the sorry souls, maybe only partly because of her old secondary school boyfriend, who she had fallen for between puffs on abandoned playgrounds and nursing him through withdrawals. There always was a reason for these folks, and ninety percent of the time, they were more a danger to themselves than her.

But the more she watched him, the more Alice was sure he wasn't a druggie at all. Possibly homeless, yes, but too calm and controlled to be high or coming down. He was still clearly lost and uncomfortable with the technology in front of him, though, and after he failed to login once more, she shoved her chair back and exited out of the partition.

"Excuse me, sir," she called as she approached. He looked up, revealing a rather prominent hooked nose. "Can I help you with your search?"

The man's scowl deepened. "How could you possibly help me?"

Alice smiled, despite his tone. She had figured he must have been foreign, or perhaps a bit touched in the head, autistic or uncomfortable with public places. It seemed he was just anti-social, and she could deal with that too.

"I'm a librarian, so helping people find information is kind of in the job," she said, circling to pull up a chair beside him, brushing against the dark, billowy fabric folded around him. She had thought it was a blanket, at first, but it wasn't nearly soft enough.

He sighed, muttering something under his breath that she didn't catch. Alice felt fair in assuming that it wasn't complimentary, though she wasn't quite sure how _Merlin_ factored into an insult.

"Fine," he snapped. "I'm looking for information on Perseus Jackson, but this infernal device remains black no matter what I do."

"Let me," she said, quickly entering in the admin information and turning the screen on, chattering almost mindlessly to put him at ease. Like a stray cat, this one. "I know these things can be tricky to turn on when they aren't your own. There always seems to be some extra hoop to jump through that trips people up, though we've tried to make logins as streamlined as possible and wait, did you say you were researching Percy Jackson?"

"Yes," he said, eyeing her suspiciously.

A thrill of excitement shot through Alice. She bet he was one of those fancy investigators that wrote books on unsolved cases, too smart and paranoid to interact with others socially. Like a modern day Sherlock Holmes. Before she knew it, she was babbling.

"No way! I love that case. It's totally bonkers. I don't know how the police could even have thought that that poor little boy blew up a bus, and the crazy thing is I don't think the coppers understand either, if you listen to their interviews after the event! And good thing he's safe, now, too, though it is tragic that they still haven't figured out who kidnapped him in the first place, right? Who's your leading suspect because mine's definitely that stepfather, you know, he went missing not too long after? I bet the mob caught up with him, and…"

She trailed off as she caught sight of the man's face. Right. Stray cat, don't scare him off.

Alice sheepishly laughed, fiddling with her glasses out of embarrassment. "Sorry to scare you. I'm kind of an unsolved cases nut."

The man blinked, mouth twisting like he was holding back a particularly rude comment. "Clearly," he decided on. "I'm… new to the case, as it were. Could you fill me in?"

She nodded, trying to tone down her enthusiasm. "I'll more than fill you in. I'll get you hooked. Have you ever heard of Buzzfeed Unsolved?"

They watched the video together, and Alice took a moment to be thankful for her job. Her mates might have thought her crazy for going into library sciences, calling her one cat short of being a sad cliche, but she loved it. The sharing of knowledge, the connections with others… In her opinion, there was nothing better.

As the boys on screen cracked jokes, Alice made a special note of the facts presented, and she figured the man beside her was doing the same thing. Percy Jackson had gone missing along with his mother, Sally Jackson, at the age of twelve. For weeks, they were both MIA, until news sources began to photograph the boy traveling across the country, placing him at the site of two bombings.

The police had actually blamed him for the bus and Arch, as well as his mother's disappearance, until he was spotted in a diner with two other children and a still unknown man, huge and hulking, with a leather jacket, sunglasses, and several facial scars. Then, they saw sense, realizing the three kids were that man's victims.

It was frustrating, really, the lack of information on this guy. He hadn't been caught, and no one recognized him, even as his face circulated all of America, then all of the Western world. An obvious monster, yes, but beyond that, no one could agree on what exactly he wanted with the children, whether it was to sell them overseas or to blackmail their families or to induct them into a cult.

Thank god that Percy had been able to free himself, though it horrified Alice that he had to get into a shoot-out to do so. At least this story had a mostly happy ending, though, with the kids getting to safety and Percy's mother showing back up in New York, confused and missing time, having obviously been drugged, yet alive nonetheless. Much happier than the awful endings of JonBenet or the boy in the box.

As it wrapped up, Alice peered curiously at the man. He had seemed, more than anything else, annoyed at the information presented, which didn't tell her much. "What did you think?" she asked.

His frown didn't worsen, at least. "I think it would have been better if the idiots hadn't kept making jokes," he started with, and despite herself, Alice laughed.

She had been so on the money. A real Holmes, she had on her hands.

"Anything else?"

"This took place four years ago, right?"

"Right."

He ducked his head, checking a paper she just noticed he had clenched on his lap. Odd, though, because to her eyes, it seemed blank. Maybe, she amused herself, he took investigating very seriously and it was invisible ink.

He swore. "Do you know anything more recent?"

She didn't. But Alice was having too much fun playing his Watson to send him off. "I bet I can find some. Budge up, I need to see the computer."

Her first few searches revealed very little. Percy Jackson had no social media presence, and there were no follow-up, human interest articles written. She next tried the mother, who had a bit more information to her name, including a statue displayed at the Whitney Museum of Art and a fun little romance novel about a girl falling in love with a Greek god. Way back, an obituary for her parents, an Estella and Jim Jackson. Alice noted the man jotting their names down.

No social media for Sally, either, but she did have a husband, name of Paul Blofis, who did.

"What a ridiculous name," the man said as she opened his Facebook page. It was public, luckily.

Alice shrugged. "My last name is Buckman. Before I got braces, I was actually Buckteeth Buckman, so I can't judge. What's yours?"

"Severus Snape," he said, and even with her eyes focused on the screen, she could tell he was sneering.

She wisely did not comment on the irony, attention drifting to one of the pictures displayed. She whistled. "Little Percy Jackson grew up nice," she said, enlarging it.

He didn't look sixteen. He was tall and muscular in the way twenty-three year old actors pretending to be teenagers were, with a lopsided smirk and a bright gaze that cut through the screen, like he was looking right at them. Grey streaks in his hair, too. Must have been some youth trend.

Severus did not appreciate her commentary, grasping the mouse and clicking out of it. "He's underage," he snapped, and Alice would have been offended if she wasn't so proud that he figured the mouse out all on his own.

"I'm actually not lusting after a kid," she said. "I just mean that the boy's going to be good looking when he's done cooking."

That phrase actually got Severus to turn his head completely away. He looked baffled. "That makes no sense."

"Not many sayings do, I guess," she said, suspecting that he took her words rather literally.

"What does cooking have to do with looks?" he said under his breath, confirming her thoughts. "You people are senseless."

Alice would have fired - gently fired - back, but looking back at the feed, the captions quickly drew her attention. "Well, this senseless person just found something."

She pointed at Paul Blofis's latest post. He didn't use Facebook very much, the most recent update from a month ago, telling viewers that Percy was back home and safe. "You see this? For him to be back home, he had to have been missing!"

"Scroll further," Severus said, leaning forward.

She did, eventually stopping on the first appearance of Percy's picture, appearing in January. Paul was asking friends and family to keep an eye out. He had disappeared over winter break, and the family worried it was a kidnapping.

"Poor guy got kidnapped twice," she murmured.

Alice didn't exactly expect Severus to be outwardly sympathetic, but she was surprised when he took another glance at the still blank paper, then at the feed, before actually smiling. It made him look younger.

Still a weird thing to smile at though.

"It lines up," he said, standing swiftly enough to make her jump in her chair. Without a second glance, he began to stride out into the aisle, heading for the door.

"You're welcome!" she called. When Alice got no response, she tried again. "At least mention me in your book?"

_[Redacted]_

Ilga Vildevalde always hated these meetings. They put a damper on their celebration of Litha, knowing that as the festivities raged on to last the week, she would be forced to leave her family and listen to a bunch of peacocks show off their feathers until one bowed its neck.

She supposed she would have enjoyed them more if the Vildevaldes hadn't fallen from grace after publicly backing Grindelwald. Or, she thought as she shot a cool glance at the matriarch of the Oliveiras, if all the families that supported him were similarly shamed.

Araminta Hu silently sat down next to her, graceful as ever and cast in all black. Ilga surreptitiously tried to straighten her own posture, aware that compared to the Viatnamese woman, she was about a foot too short and thirty pounds too heavy.

Ilga gave a small smile to Araminta, anyway, tamping down her jealousy. Despite the Hu's higher status, they had always gotten along, being some of the youngest representatives there, Ilga being eighteen and Araminta twenty-two.

Araminta represented the Hu's as the only surviving member of the strongest branch of her family, located in a small island on the South China Sea, hidden by enough wards that it had never been mapped by a Muggle. It was unclear whether the attack came from one of the families sitting around the table or the woman herself. They said that she was found at the age of fifteen, covered in blood, her throat nearly completely slit. The scar was still there, as pretty as a necklace on her pale neck.

Ilga's story was not as glamorous. After half the Vildevaldes were packed away in prison, the other half quickly stopped giving a damn, falling into disrepair and drinking away half the fortune. It was only with her parents' generation that the family began to build itself back up again, and as a consequence, she was one of the only members educated in diplomacy from a young age.

Most of the table was silent, more for effect than anything else, even knowing their visitor was not yet among them. Merlin knew how much they liked to snipe at each other, each family wrestling for the smallest step up, yet when an outsider approached, the thirteen of them fell together in an approximation of solidarity, remembering that for all their backstabbing and in-fighting, they were some of the most powerful Purebloods in the world, far beyond any other.

Ilga scanned the cold and passive faces of each seated at the table. Most were much older than her. After Araminta, the closest in age was Naram Ashared, a dark-skinned man in his thirties. No one was quite sure where the Ashareds operated out of, yet their influence was felt across the globe, with their stranglehold on the sale of dragon heartstrings. He was big, too, and more than muscular enough to handle ripping the needed material from a dragon bare-handed.

Sat across from him was a Carbrera-Bello, and predictably, next to the Spanish man, the representative from the Fryxells sat. They were the only two western European members of their group, and as a consequence, the Fryxells and Carbrera-Bellos were each other's biggest rival, constantly competing for more money and power. They defined the idea of keeping enemies close.

As for her, her greatest rival, Pytr Vasiliev, sat near the front, next to Esmeralda Oliveira, no doubt hoping that he could lap up whichever scraps she deigned to give him. The Oliveiras and Hus were by far the biggest players at the table, controlling nearly half the continent of South America and Asia respectively.

Of course, both were also known for being absolutely ruthless. Ilga knew cruelty and knew how to dole it out, but those two families took it to another level. She had heard that one of Esmeralda's cousins had once strangled her with her own intestine, and she was an insider. There was a reason they were rarely crossed, and it wasn't just the land.

Across from those two, heading the other side, an Akkad and Glick sat, both of them only notable in their firm neutrality. They never backed the wrong side or attempted the wrong coup, seemingly content with their lots. Ilga trusted them least.

Between Glick and Fryxell, there was an Ibara, and across, an Anagonye. The Afolabi's representative sat next to him, which surprised Ilga. The Afolabis often married with the Oliveiras. She would have expected them to be closer.

Then, there was only the man across from her and Araminta: Loughty. He didn't mean much to Ilga, though she had heard rumors of his youngest son trying to court the woman next to her. For the Loughty boy's sake, she hoped he failed. She'd eat him alive.

The heavy doors at the front of the room glided open, and as if on cue, Igla saw each of the faces surrounding her harden, turning from cool glass to steel. She knew her own was doing the same, and if she was a betting woman, would say hers had been one of the largest shifts.

She was on the defensive, just as Pytr, Carbrera-Bello, and Fryxell were. This was, after all, a European coming to address them, and they were the only families with bases in the continent. She didn't yet know if he would be an asset or a threat.

Lord Voldemort stood in the entryway, unnaturally tall, gaunt, with no nose and no hair. It was exceedingly clear that he had danced in the land of the dead, a choice equal parts bold and foolish. He dressed like Araminta did, and at that thought, Ilga forced down a smirk.

Ibara spoke first, as the eldest. "Say your piece and watch your tongue. We do not take kindly to calling someone Lord."

And that was such a painfully British choice. Ilga had a moderate knowledge of Muggle history and knew that while the Muggles might have colonized most of the modern world at one point or another, the wizards had never been in the playing field, always torn up with fighting between the petty noble families and wars against Goblins. And yet, the wizards seemed to carry with them the highest mark of arrogance without ever earning it.

This Lord Voldemort would have to work to gain their respect. The rest of the world might fear his rise, but the true mark of power wasn't fear. It was ignorance. No one feared any of those seated at the table because they were already in control. No one knew they should be afraid.

He bowed his head, first to Ibara, then to the rest of the table. His head was bone white, an eerie shade to see.

"Thank you for this opportunity. As you all well know, the world now has seen that I have returned, and with me, my philosophy, drawn from those such as your esteemed selves. That blood and power and magic rule above all else."

He truly had the tongue of a snake, speaking with a certain gravitas, a charm that was easy to fall into. She had heard, once, that he had been quite handsome. And with those two factors, it was easy to see how he had amassed followers.

"My country, from the time I was a boy, has been torn between this set of beliefs and another, an insidious system insisting on the rights of those who lie rightfully below us. One that makes it close to impossible, I'd assume, for any of you sitting here to exert your influence there."

Ilga refused to blush. The Vildevaldes were primarily Russian. This was not on her family, not as much as it was on others.

Surprisingly, it was Anagonye who spoke up, his honey voice fiercely contrasting the sharpness of his words. "What makes you think we want England? Your people have no new money, land, or numbers to contribute to ours."

Voldemort's voice was silky. "We have tradition. The headquarters of Gringotts. The birthplace of Merlin and Nimueh and Morgana. There's a heart to magic at home, in the wildness of the moors, that is fierce and untamable. Until now. If you offer your support, our victory and dominion over England will be unquestioned and absolute.

You ask _why_. You, it is true, have done well to be in your positions. What else could you need? Well, I ask: what could you gain? England has gone untouched, unexplored, by any of us. It's riches and advantages still lie untouched, just waiting for your hands to grasp it."

Oliveira spoke next, a smoker's rasp. In the dim light, it was easy to see that Voldemort's eyes widened. Even he, it seemed, knew of the rumors. "You speak of victory, yet you have lost your war fourteen years ago. How can you guarantee our efforts would not be wasted?"

He twisted his head, a snake-like motion. "I was thwarted by chance and fate."

Pytr cut him off, snide. "By a baby."

Ilga truly did smirk. Pytr should have kept his mouth shut. Sloppy, sloppy…

Voldemort's voice got softer, yet she could hear the power coming off him. Vasiliev shouldn't have gotten the man worked up. Emotions were strong motivators and even better on men like him.

"By a prophecy. But I have survived, despite what it predicted. I have come back, striking fear in the hearts of every witch and wizard in England. Their heads are in the sand after years of so-called _peace_. They are not prepared, putting all their hopes into the hands of an old man and a child. Harry Potter is a hormonal teenager whose greatest magical feat has been gawdy light magic. He is alive only by the grace of Albus Dumbledore, who will also die, already old and weak."

Sickly-sweet Araminta spoke. "Then it's settled. You kill Albus Dumbledore and then we consider you. We expect results by the next passing of Litha."

This seemed to strike Lord Voldemort mute. For a moment, the room trembled with the sheer force of his fury, tightly leashed. What a wonderful, powerful beast. Unfortunately, he brought himself back under control.

"Thank you for your time." He bowed once more, before sweeping out of the room.

Araminta laughed in her ear. "He talks too much."

Ilga grinned. "What will you do if his actions match the magnitude of his words?"

"I suppose I'll be first in line for England, then."

_Wiltshire, England_

Severus supposed it could be worse. He could be preparing for tomorrow night's feast, where he would inevitably be forced to watch Gryffindor win the House Cup again, after fooling around an entire year, due to the foolish antics of Potter. All the Death Eaters could be there, in a meeting that these days, felt disturbingly like the professors' meetings held monthly, only with the threat of torture instead of a lessened paycheck.

It was strange, that he felt little fear at the prospect of his individual meetings with the most dangerous wizard alive. Perhaps he just cared that little for his life.

More likely, he just hated listening to Bellatrix's snide commentary and Wormtail's wheezing that much.

"My lord," he murmured, kneeling down in a smooth motion.

"Severus," the man acknowledged, lazily raising a hand. "Rise."

He did so. He tried not to think about too much of anything, though, despite himself, he worried, something smarter than his conscious thought recognizing that some part of their equilibrium was off.

"Yes, my lord," he said, rising with the same ease. It was rather sad that this was the extent of his physical coordination. Severus would have liked to be good at something other than kneeling.

There, he stood in silence, hands clasped behind his back, letting his subconscious work.

"I have a task for you," the Dark Lord spoke, and something clicked. He had heard that tone before, and it led to him spending half a week at Spinner's End trying to figure out how to work what Muggles called a computer, until the chatty librarian had come over.

He already hated Percy Jackson for that, on principle. And for being so elusive that not one person had figured out where he had disappeared to for five months. Or what had happened during that trip which caused him to come back home a wizard.

"Anything you request will be my pleasure to fulfill," he said, while clamping down on the thought that this _was going to be bullshit._

His two masters were more similar than they liked to think. The Dark Lord, too, decided to open his order with a backstory. "I once visited South America, about forty years ago, to draw support for my campaign here. During my time there, I made an ally with the heir of the Oliveiras. I had expected her continued support of the cause, now, as we had spent a… considerable amount of time working together towards the same goals."

He paused. Severus took the moment to hope that this woman wouldn't show up with reinforcements. The last thing he needed was for the burgeoning civil war to turn into a worldwide event.

It didn't help that he could only picture her as an older, crazier version of Bellatrix.

"She was not sitting as the heir of her family when I spoke to The Tredicim. I believe that if she had been there, they would have seen sense then, instead of forcing me to wait another year. I would like for you to find her. Perhaps a more… direct method of communication would allow for our plans to move forward at a quicker rate."

"Of course. May I ask what her name is?" Severus asked.

The Dark Lord nodded. He, too, seemed distracted. "Estella Oliveira, when I knew her."

For a brief second, time stood still as Severus threw up every mental shield he had. He knew he had a good mind, but quite honestly, it would take an absolute moron not to connect the dots. Estella Oliveira was not acting as the heir, as she was forty years ago. Thirty-four years ago, Estella Jackson died in a plane crash, along with a man with a very Muggle name. Where else would a witch run to if she had gotten pregnant with a Muggle's child? The Oliveiras were brutal people. They would have killed the baby, if not her as well, upon discovery.

And, of course, Albus Dumbledore would be wary. That family had backed Grindelwald heavily. One of the cousins, he knew, left the scar on the Headmaster's knee. Severus had the lingering suspicion that he was worried one of them would try to bust the German wizard out of his prison.

And then, Severus made a decision, letting time slip back to normal.

"My lord," he began, only hating his words a little. "I believe I know of her."

The wizard's attention snapped to him, coming back to himself for the first time in their conversation. It was such a heavy thing.

"Tell me."

Severus's heart beat on, steady. He was well aware he was throwing them to the wolves, but the Jacksons had always been a minor piece in a grander game. The truth, if the Dark Lord was after it, would come out either way, and if Severus beat it, he'd gain even more trust. If he didn't, he could lose it all, protecting some almost-Muggles.

They'd never win out over Potter. Over his honor. Over Lily's son. He'd never pretended to be in the fight for anything but that.

Severus told Lord Voldemort everything he knew. With any luck, he'd be distracted enough by the concept of a wizard in America that, across the pond, they'd buy more time.

_A/N_:

1.) I worked out the timeline towards the end of OotP, and it seems like the end of term is always July 1st, meaning that there's roughly a little over a week in between the battle at the Ministry and Harry's return to the Durselys. This first chapter covers that time, and though the timeline might not be entirely correct, Rowling and Riordan weren't sticklers either, so I'll be playing with it a little. Like my original draft, both stories are taking place in the modern day, and the Heroes of Olympus had an accelerated timeline, lasting from January to May for the sake of the story. If Percy is still fighting in the middle of July, it doesn't give him enough time to learn about magic.

2.) The Buzzfeed Unsolved episode covering Percy Jackson and the mention of Sally writing a trashy romance novel about her life were both inspired by tumblr posts that I loved so much I decided to make them canon!

3.) Litha is another way to say Summer Solstice, which is a Wiccan holiday. I figured purebloods would be very into those dates! I'm calling the international purebloods The Tredicim, which translates to the Thirteen, which is also a significant Wiccan number.

4.) Wiltshire is supposedly where Malfoy Manor is.

5.) I hoped you liked the OCs. They shouldn't be returning because this is NOT an OC centered fic, but you will be seeing some more, either to mix up narration or to give some perspective on what's happening on a different scale. I'm not planning on just re-telling the Half-Blood Prince with Percy in it, and one of the ways I want to mix that up is with international wizard politics coming into play. If Voldemort could recruit European giants, why not recruit foreign wizards, too? Let me know if you liked the section with them, or if I should cut down that subplot.

6.) That being said, if you don't like OCs and did not read their sections, this is what you missed: a librarian helps Snape work a computer so he can figure out that Percy went missing and showed back up in May (bc I firmly believe he would not be able to do it alone) and a bunch of wealthy, international pureblood families meet up several times a year, and this time, Voldemort was there to get support. They told him that before they'd work with him, he'd first have to kill Dumbledore.

Thanks so much for reading!


	2. Return to Insanity

Hi, everyone! Sorry it took so long to come back, but I am newly inspired for this story after the news of a Percy Jackson adaptation broke! I've worked on an outline and seriously re-worked this story to fit everything I want it to, so if you've skipped over the first chapter, I'd do back and read it because it is also brand new! I'm going to be keeping nearly all of the same background, though (just presented in a different format), because I liked it and I've gotten a few comments saying they liked it as well. Thank you, in fact, to everyone who had something to say about this fic!

_New York _

_The Jacksons Apartment_

Paul Blofis was an easygoing man. It was only natural, as the middle child of five. The rest of his siblings either overachieved or underachieved, while Paul simply achieved, the drama club in college being the most adventurous choice of his youth.

The trait had served him surprisingly well in his brief foray into acting and even better as a teacher. He'd found that for the most part, going along with life's curveballs and making little fuss worked for him.

His college girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend? He attended their wedding as a member of the party. His boss cut the funding for the school newspaper? He started a fundraiser and kept the club afloat with his own money until profits rolled in. His car's roof was dented by a Pegasus? Paul actually loved it. He had so many selfies with the thing. It had taken the combined efforts of Sally, Percy, and Annabeth to bring the thing to camp, where a friend fixed the damage.

The point was, Paul was a calm guy. He prided himself on it.

But there was a breaking point, and Paul had hit his. He interrupted the wizard and rose to his feet, not to threaten, but just to move, to translate some of his emotions to movement.

"Please stop talking." He was straining to keep his voice level: no matter how upset he was, Paul refused to break down into screaming and yelling, especially knowing what he did about the grease stain that was Gabe Ugliano.

He had been excited when he was told the truth about the Greek world. A little inadequate, sometimes, knowing that Sally could have had a literal god but settled with him, but mostly proud and in awe of her and Percy. Grateful that he was a part of their family.

He had been worried sick when Percy went missing. Terrified when the full details were told. So damn sad that he couldn't do anything to help. But this?

Paul saw red as he looked at the old man sitting across the coffee table, far too at home in their armchair.

"I'm sorry," he continued, not feeling very sorry. "But _no_. You don't get to come here and tell us wizards are real and that there's a war, and surprise! We're in danger. Because of some psychopath who you all haven't managed to kill. You know why?

"It isn't Sally's or Percy's problem! It's yours. They've been through enough and as far as I'm concerned, bringing them to a _warzone_ is just asking for more trouble. How can you show up and drag her parents through the mud after all these years? I don't care if her mother ate babies for fun or praised Satan or if a bunch of people like that are affecting your world. It isn't theirs, and it's so selfish of you to be _sitting_ here, forcing them into it just by being here. Please leave."

Infuriatingly, Albus whatever his name was did not seem bothered by Paul's speech, possibly because it was much more desperate than angry. Just grave and almost sad. It was almost funny, because Paul would have loved to sit down and write about the strange wizard if it had been anyone else's life he was there to interrupt.

He had been deadly serious. Sally and Percy had been through hell, literally. They didn't need another secret world to come crashing down on them.

The old man sighed. "May I explain? I'm not here to drag your family into danger but rather, to keep you out of it, if you'd be so kind to listen."

Before Paul could tell him exactly what he should keep out of, Sally placed a hand on his arm, and suddenly, all the frustration directed at the man was gone, replaced by the immediate need to make sure she and Percy were alright.

She didn't look upset or scared, though, thank God (he never could get in the habit of adding an _s_ to that phrase). A small smile played on her lips.

"Paul, let's try, okay?"

He was sitting back down on the couch, sliding back between Sally and Percy, who was still silent. He hadn't spoken since the wizard had come in, done nothing but looked in the man's direction. Paul didn't even think Percy was staring Dumble-whatever down, more lost in his own head than anything.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, to both of them. "I didn't mean to make a scene. I'm just worried."

Sally smiled, truly, and like always, it was a sunbeam. "It was sweet. I've never had someone rant on my behalf before. It was always the other way around."

And before he could feel sad enough for that statement, she leaned in, her voice soft and teasing. "Plus, I can see how you were an actor. That was a hell of a monologue."

He blushed. That was another reason he tried to go with the flow: the mortification immediately following a scene.

"I try. And, I'll try, this time. To listen. Go on." Paul directed the last part across the room.

Albus nodded graciously. "You're right to be worried, but I'll try to clear up a few misconceptions."

He looked at Sally. "I don't mean to insult your mother. She was a good person, remarkable, to break through the lies she had been told. And though I only met her once, I could tell that she loved your father, Jim Jackson, with every part of her. I hope her darker past doesn't ruin what memories you have of her because I assure you, they're genuine."

She just nodded. Her hand was tight around Paul's, and all he could do was hold on back.

"I'm not trying to force you into our world, either. It already has its eyes on you. As I said, Voldemort knows of you purely because of your family line. If you take my offer, you will hopefully avoid ever coming into contact with him or his followers."

"That's what I don't understand," Paul said, feeling uncomfortable as the spokesperson. He didn't want to speak over either of the people next to him, but at the moment, he had the feeling they needed him to. "There's no magic here. How could they get to us?"

The wizard looked even more grave. "We thought that, yes. But your son has been setting off alerts for the past month, all saying that he's using magic. And if he can access powers here, I am deeply worried that he won't be the only one."

Percy spoke up for the first time since he had stiffened in the apartment, warning of something approaching the door. "But I'm not. I think I'd know if I was saying spells or moving things with my mind or whatever."

Paul nodded emphatically. It wasn't like Percy would even try any of that either, not when he had been struggling to control his own godly powers. His stepson wasn't the type to look for more trouble (though he was scarily good at handling it).

"It's accidental. You wouldn't be consciously doing it, like most untrained children. So, think. Have you ever noticed anything odd happening around you, when you were angry or scared? Something that couldn't be explained by coincidence or science?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Paul could see Percy's lips twitch. "I can't say so. I had a pretty normal childhood."

Sally pressed her hand into her mouth, hiding a smile, and Paul wasn't much better. But Albus wasn't to be deterred.

"We noticed activity through June. Nothing out of the ordinary at all took place just recently, perhaps beginning in May?"

Where to start? Percy's entire life, Paul thought, had been out of the ordinary.

But something in the wizard's words affected Percy. Paul wouldn't have known by his body language (Percy had been tense the entire conversation and that wasn't changing), but figured it out when his stepson's hand clenched next to his.

"Maybe."

The man stared at Percy, long and hard, but didn't get any more information. He settled on nodding cheerfully, as if the teenager had spilled his entire life story to him.

"I am the headmaster at a school that teaches young men like yourself how to control their powers. If you would like, I could explore the possibility of enrolling you as a student, there. Or, you could learn enough from the Order members that would be keeping you and your family safe while in hiding. Not," the man added, pointedly, "fighting in a war."

Paul frowned. It wasn't like he would tell the wizard that the Jacksons seemed to have a special propensity for drawing danger to them. If they started hanging out with wizards, he was sure they would end up fighting with them as well.

"That's not much of a choice, Dumbledore," Sally said, her voice completely neutral. Paul had no clue what was going on inside her head. "There's no chance of us to keep living in New York, is there?"

"I don't want to force any of you," he said. "But your safety is a priority."

Paul noticed Percy's jaw-clenching and knew his stepson was as thrilled with that answer as he was. The sea didn't like to be restrained, after all, and he was sure Percy was about to show off the temper that reminded Paul that he was indeed in the presence of a son of the god of storms. Brief, powerful, and always a surprise.

Of course, Sally saw the same, most likely having picked up on her son's shifting mood ages before Paul, and once again, swept in. "Okay. When are we packing?"

_New York_

_A McDonalds _

Annabeth Chase should have been more worried, but as any child of Athena would, she turned her emotions into plans. And, of course, to make room for Percy's own.

It actually wasn't often that she played the calm one in hers and Percy's relationship, much to the surprise of outsiders. Occasionally, yes, her boyfriend would rush into something or need to rant, but for the most part, Percy could deal with his emotions as well as any other halfblood. Often, he dealt with them better than she did, talking to the fish in the sea or his mom, while Annabeth tended to ruthlessly shove her feelings down. Like she was now.

They'd probably have a long, emotional talk before he left for England in two days, as the

but until then, they were working out a game plan.

They had been splitting time between Camp and Sally's after Gaia, who, after Hera took Percy, was the closest parent figure to Annabeth as well. Who she was also losing for Gods knew how long, which she wouldn't think about. Percy had taken a quick trip on his own, though, to accompany Sally and Paul to her prenatal appointment, already an absolutely adorable older brother to a sister not yet born.

Annabeth couldn't help but feel that if she had gone with, then somehow, Albus Dumbledore never would have shown up, throwing their shaky peace into a tailspin. Camp, she knew, would survive with just her and Jason's leadership, but it would be hard to explain to both the Romans and Greeks that just after disappearing for two months, Percy would be pulling another vanishing act. Because he was a wizard and would be targeted by an evil cult.

Percy had been shaking when he IMed her, and just one glance at his face had been enough to send her running to Manhattan. And when she had arrived at the apartment, he was already outside, explaining that he couldn't stay there any longer, stress making him fall apart at the seams. He had collapsed into her arms when she arrived, tense muscles slowly loosening.

Percy and Sally, for the first time since she knew them, had had a disagreement. Not a fight, like the ones she often had with her dad and step-mom, but enough of one that her boyfriend had needed space. They had both, eventually, agreed that going into hiding was necessary, even if neither liked it, to keep the baby and Paul safe, especially when neither knew how godly powers would measure up to magic, though Percy had originally wanted to stay in America and stay at his mom's side, ready to take out any psychopaths dumb enough to come for them with a conveinent wave or earthquake.

No, Percy was angry that his mother signed him up to go to Hogwarts, insisting that he couldn't put his life on hold for them. And Sally was angry that Percy wouldn't tell her why he had even indicated to Dumbledore that he could have powers.

Which brought them to a McDonalds on good old Governors Island, Sadie and Carter Kane, their favorite magic experts, across from them. They looked, for the most part, confused.

Percy had unloaded most of his immediate worries on the trip over, enough that his voice and posture were once again steady. Annabeth took a moment to admire how handsome he looked as he talked about Albus Dumbledore and his enemy, Lord Voldemort, excluding a warm kind of confidence that matched her colder brand perfectly.

She tuned back in as he finished the speech they had practiced. "So, what do you guys think? Know anything about these wizards?"

Carter shook his head. "They don't use Egyptian magic, from what you said."

Sadie chimed in. "And they're not using Greek, obviously, or Gandalf would have fangirled over you two."

Percy cracked a smile at that. "Nice one. I hope they all don't look like that, though. I couldn't pull off a beard."

The girl across from them laughed, examining his chin through a frame of her fingers. He posed playfully. "Maybe hipster scruff… no, you're right, you'd look homeless."

"As awful as a bearded Percy would be," Carter cut in, "what worries me more is that Gandalf said there wasn't magic _here_. Wouldn't there be more magic, with us and you guys here, plus the Romans, right?"

And the Norse, Annabeth thought. Though she wouldn't speak on that, instead voicing an idea Carter had sparked. "I think he meant that there wasn't any of _his _magic here. Which makes me think it isn't Greek or Egyptian at all."

"But he said I was apparently using their magic since the end of May. That's when I met you and got punched across the sky." Percy paused, flashing two friendly finger guns across the table. "Which was pretty cool, bro. It's just that I thought Gandalf picked up on the magic you guys used around me."

"Oh." Sadie exhaled, then grinned. "Just got a little feedback from Isis! She thinks that Carter's fist of fury did it, too. He punched your magic out of you, dude."

"Like a virus!" Annabeth exclaimed, the pieces coming together. "Something foreign came into contact with your immune system, in this case you, and it woke up the antibodies, bringing whatever family magic you had locked away to the surface!"

Percy huffed, equally amused and frustrated. Seemed about right for their lives. "Fisted into another world, huh? Better than a demon math teacher, I guess."

Even Carter laughed at that. "Or getting blasted into a wall while your dad was stuffed into a sarcophagus."

"Even better," Annabeth said. "Unlike Kronos or Gaia, the Death Eaters or whatever can't be related to you."

"Guess there's one perk to being a wizard," he said, smiling for real. Annabeth could feel a grin rising to match his.

And as they laughed around the table, she got to stop worrying for a minute about losing him to someplace she couldn't follow. They'd get through this, the same way they got through everything.

_[Redacted]_

_Hideout in England _

Percy Jackson choked down his nausea, while Paul laughed.

"What?" he asked, stomach churning from what Dumbledore had called a Portkey. The loss of balance had thrown Percy, reminded him too much of the other times he hadn't been in control of his body, none of them fun.

"Just nice to see it the other way around," he commented lightly.

"Sorry, babe, but you were actually throwing up on the ship," his mom said, smile in her voice. "Until Percy vomits, you've still got the weakest stomach."

"This two person list is unfair!" Paul said. "Of course Percy is tougher than me."

"Too bad. Pregnancy privilege, remember?"

Percy was finally able to straighten up. "You can't use my baby sister as an excuse forever, Mom. Then I'll be champion again."

"Sure, sweetheart," she said, pulling him close. He easily followed, never one to turn down a hug from her. "Keep telling yourself that."

"In a few months, I'll be telling everyone, especially the baby. First thing she's going to know is that I've got a stomach of steel."

A giggle interrupted them, and Percy's head instantly whipped toward it, hand darting to his pocket. In the doorway, a young, dark-haired woman stood. He'd guess she was in her early thirties at most, though by her height, she resembled the new kids at Camp most. Either way, she obviously wasn't a threat.

It would be strange, not having to expect a monster jumping out from every corner.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said. "You're funny, Percy! And Sally, Paul, you guys are so cute! I think we'll have a fun time, together, or, as much fun as the circumstances will allow."

Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat from behind them. "This is Hestia Jones. She's the member of the Order that will be housing you."

Percy liked Hestia right away. She reminded him of her namesake, both goddess and witch warm-hearted. He wasn't sure that he could say the same for Dumbledore.

Don't get him wrong, he could tell that the man meant well. But Percy couldn't shake the feeling that the wizard was hiding something, and by now, he listened to those instincts. Annabeth was the one who could read people at the drop of a hat, but he wasn't half bad at it either, and Percy had never seen someone who was as much of a closed book as Albus Dumbledore was.

He was like Chiron if Chiron was a good liar. The guy knew a lot and kept a lot close to his chest, and frankly, Percy was worried one of those cards would end up backfiring on them. It was one of the reasons he hadn't wanted to go to Hogwarts.

Of course, Sally Jackson had won that argument. Percy felt guilty enough about everything he put his mom through that the second she started crying, he caved. And then she cried more because she didn't want to be manipulating him, and he started crying, too, and by then, it was just a Jackson family break down.

They were doing better now, only partly because of the boat they got to take. Nothing cheered Percy or his mom up like a nice trip over the water, and even though Paul tended to vomit, he enjoyed it well enough too. They made a game out of it, with Paul and Sally guessing which waves were genuine ocean and which ones were Percy being bored.

He wished it could have lasted longer, but they only boated to a small island on international waters, far away enough that a Portkey had enough magic to work. But either way, the ride had definitely cheered the three of them up from the stress that had hung over them, enough that his mom's eyes were still shining when she answered Hestia.

"Nice to meet you, Hestia, and thank you for hosting us. We're a pretty fun crowd, though it might decrease in volume once Percy goes off to school," she said, tossing a teasing grin at him.

Being a mature almost adult, Percy obviously made a face back at her. Paul laughed beside them.

"I can tell," Hestia said. "Come in, come in! I'll show you all around. I'm sure you'll love it. It's much roomier than an apartment."

They dutifully shuffled in, Percy and Paul passing on their thanks. He was aware that Dumbledore trailed them, and as they made their way past the foyer, the wizard pulled out his wand.

Aware he was being watched, Dumbledore explained. "Just unpacking your things, my boy. Do feel free to look around."

Percy gave a tight smile, somewhat chagrined to be caught blatantly staring, while the rest of him shrugged. It wasn't like anyone had ever called him subtle.

His mom and Paul were already in the living area, which _wow_. It was easily four times the size of the space in their apartment, with a low ceiling, exposed beams, and warm sunlight drifting through the windows. He could hear Hestia explaining that they were enchanted to reflect the time of day, since real windows were a security risk.

Either way, it was a pretty view. Lots of plants and wicker furniture everywhere. Somewhere in the house, his mom was exclaiming over an old-timey stove, while Paul examined the massive fireplace. It reminded him of the Demeter kids cabin, which wasn't the worst place to be.

Percy set off to explore on his own. There were two floors and a narrow, spiral staircase, which was also covered in plants. In fact, what wasn't covered in plants or bookcases was covered with paintings, most of them pastoral scenes. As he looked closer at one of two sheep, he grinned, noticing that the sheep were moving.

Just in case he forgot he was in a witch's house.

The staircase was a little creaky but more fun to climb than their building's stairs. The second floor also had plenty of fake natural light but thankfully less plants. It was just a hallway with windows and doors, though, nothing super magical up there.

He peered into each room. Surprisingly, the first looked like his bedroom from home, if it had been tripled in size. Already, there were faded Led Zeppelin and Queen posters over the pale wallpaper, and on top of the dresser, all the framed pictures of his friends. Dumbledore worked fast. Percy was sure that within, all of the clothes he had packed away into suitcases would be neatly folded.

Most of their stuff, of course, had been left in the apartment, which the Order had promised to maintain rent on. They brought their necessities with them on the boat, probably looking like the worst type of tourist, and before they were sucked across the ocean, Dumbledore had waved his wand and shrunk all of their bags down to the size of Barbie furniture, sticking them into one of the many pockets of his robe.

The next room, it looked like, was his mom and Paul's. Percy could see their family picture sitting by the bed, and left it at that, not remotely tempted to snoop. The next was locked, which meant it was probably Hestia's. Across the hall, there was a bathroom, which also wasn't magical, and an empty bedroom with a crib.

That would be for his sister. They hadn't decided on a name yet, all of them calling her 'the baby,' but Percy already loved her. Every day, he was grateful he hadn't missed the birth while fighting in Rome.

He seemed to have some time, so he decided to contact his other favorite girl. Favorite person, really. Percy walked into the bathroom and prepared an IM, asking for Annabeth Chase.

"Hey," she said, looking up from her bed in her cabin. Gods, Percy missed her already, and it had been just hours since they parted. Even knowing that she'd be able to make trips over, one already scheduled for next week, and with enough drachmas to IM her every night, he missed her.

(Clarisse had been the one to present the gift last night, gruffly explaining that they better stay in contact because as annoying as they were together, they were ten times worse apart. Percy had called her a romantic, and she had decked him. Gods, he even missed Clarisse.)

"Hey," he said lamely. It had been over four years of knowing Annabeth and he was still struck dumb. "How's Camp?"

"The same. Drew and Piper led the Aphrodite cabin to victory in Capture-the-Flag last night."

Percy shuddered. "They are terrifying when they actually play." It was true, too. Every single one of Aphrodite's children played dirty and unexpectedly aggressive, but the worst part was the surprise psychoanalysis. Little ten year old Greta had made him spend a week stressing about his skin care routine and what it meant for his suitability as a partner to someone.

"Bring new meaning to love and war, right?" Annabeth agreed. "How's England?"

"Well, I've seen about none of it. I don't know where we are right now, only that it's in the country."

She smirked. "Good. If you saw Big Ben before me, I'd have to kill you."

He wrinkled his nose. "Who's Big Ben?"

For a moment, he thought Annabeth would physically try to throw herself at him, and he cracked, breaking down into laughter. "Your face- I can't believe you bought that! I do listen to your architecture talks, you know."

She huffed. "If I was there, I'd punch you."

"Nah, you wouldn't."

"Would too."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Not."

"I love you."

It was quiet, when it slipped out, like even Annabeth was surprised she was saying it. She didn't usually say it first, too used to pushing people away, and every time he heard it from her, he wanted to frame it, shout to the world how much he loved her.

"Love you, too," Percy said softly. He wished he could hold her. "I wish I could hold you right now."

"Me too."

The image wavered. Already, they were running out of time. Percy guessed that was on him, for thinking they'd have plenty, the rest of the summer.

He repeated what they'd planned for probably the hundredth time. "It'll be okay. I'll see you on Tuesday. And IM you all the time."

"And we weren't going to school together, anyway, this year," Annabeth continued. "So it's not that different."

"And I'll sneak out," Percy spontaneously decided. "Every weekend. I got the ocean on my side. Should take minutes to cross over."

"And you'll have a British accent, too."

"You don't like the New York one?" he asked, exaggerating it, softening the _t_s, dropping his _r_s, and stretching out the _aww_ in vowels.

"I like anything coming out of your mouth," she said, flushing red. It was the last thing he saw before the call ended.

Percy stood in silence for a minute, staring at his reflection in the mirror. It looked worn down and too old, but he was proud to say, still hopeful. Annabeth was right. They'd get through this. Two years of wizard school and by then, hopefully the war would be over and he could go home.

The wizards had some in with the British government, with a degree from Hogwarts also counting as a degree from high school, so even his college plans were still on. He just had to keep them all alive and safe from Voldemort, who, like everyone was reminding him, was no Kronos. It was likely that if they were in hiding, he'd forget about them entirely, more focused on not losing to the Order.

It'd be fine. Percy left the bathroom with that thought lingering on his mind, determined to find his mom and really meet Hestia.

_Scottish Highlands_

_Headmaster's Office _

Albus Dumbledore left Hestia's troubled, which wasn't saying much. He tended to be troubled more often than not these days.

Most of it was guilt, for all the deaths. There were too many deaths on his conscience these days, and they were steadily building. Just the three days he had been gone from the country had cost untold Muggle lives, with Riddle collapsing the Brockdale Bridge. Last night, he killed Amelia Bones. Albus was sure another attack was on the horizon.

And, he was enough of a man to admit, he was scared, too. He believed Tom would be defeated, but the cost of such an act… at what point would it be pyrrhic?

They would already lose Harry, who he mourned as the boy breathed. Just another death to carry, and yet, so much heavier than the rest. Harry was so much of his parents, and it hurt to know the last of the Potters would be lost, only magnified by the knowledge that they'd lose everything else that made Harry himself as well.

Harry, Albus knew, even so young, was twice the man as anyone in the war. He spoke the truth the night of the Ministry, when he remarked on how foolish he had been. Albus had been an absolute fool to look for Tom in the boy, when every similarity the two shared was negated by the sheer goodness of Harry Potter.

Which brought him to the latest source of his troubles, the reason he had put aside his plans to find the Gaunt ring and left the war entirely.

Both Sally and Percy Jackson, he had noticed while perched in their home, had Tom Riddle's cheekbones and nose, the same haughty bone structure that allowed him to pass for a Pureblood. And both, of course, had power, tangible even in their dingy apartment.

Percy, in particular, worried him. Less than a year older than Harry, and yet, Albus could not quite call him a boy. He had the guarded eyes of a man and carried himself like he didn't just have power but knew how to use it. He carried himself like a predator.

It wasn't the way boy Tom Riddle had, what Albus had subconsciously braced himself for. There were no bursts of arrogance or attempts at manipulation, nor any signs of the smug lies that his grandfather had used in his teen years.

No, what worried him most didn't have anything to do with Riddle. It was that beyond those paltry observations, Albus could not read Percy Jackson. He was a closed book if a book was a brick wall, a stony facade that hadn't been cracked.

And while Albus believed that he was an innocent, he still had no idea how Percy started showing powers or where he had been when reported missing for five months.

The wizard couldn't help but feel that something had happened to the teen while he was gone, something that turned the boy into the suspicious person who had started at him from the couch, hard in the ways very few people really were.

What he didn't know worried him. And in a war, what he didn't know just might have the power to destroy them all.

Albus once again put aside his notes on the ring. He had Harry's summer arrangements to focus on, and ever present, the mystery of Percy Jackson to solve. The next Horcrux would have to wait a while longer.

_A/N_:

1.) Did I write a Paul POV just so I could write about how great Percy and Sally are? Yes.

2.) In Riordan's timeline, the Kanes meet Percy and Annabeth in the fall right after the Heroes of Olympus. Since I moved that up to fit five months, I moved their meetings up too, and also to provide an explanation as to why Percy would suddenly develop powers now and be found by the Ministry. I hope it came as a surprise!

3.) I skipped around a couple emotional conversations between Annabeth and Percy to keep the story moving, but I might upload additional scenes for fun to show their goodbye and the original disagreement between Sally and Percy after Dumbledore left the apartment. Let me know if you'd be interested.

4.) Again, on the timeline: Heroes of Olympus canonically takes place six months after The Last Olympian, so Percy would still be 16 here and eligible to attend Hogwarts, which I will be exploring how that would work in the next chapter. This also means that if he was in sixth grade when The Lightning Thief started, he would have missed his sophomore year and still have both junior and senior year to go. I always thought it was just senior year before I started this project!

5.) This chapter takes place immediately after school ends, so from July 1st to the 3rd. This lines up with the first domestic attacks Voldemort makes post Order of the Phoenix and is about a week out from the beginning of the Half-Blood Prince.

6.) What did Dumbledore do while Percy, Sally, and Paul packed? I like to imagine he went sightseeing and got one of those "I love NY" shirts to show off.


	3. Start of Summer

_Hideout in England_

Hestia Jones set the table, much more ease than she suspected she would be. From what she'd seen, Sally, Paul, and Percy were just wonderful people. Nothing at all like her worries had led her to believe, that'd they be blatantly anti-magic like some Muggles tended to be or as mad as her sister, Clio, had warned of.

Clio worked with the International Confederation of Wizards, on a special task force meant to redistribute wealth and power in countries lacking muggleborn or halfblood rights, and as a result, she had a much greater knowledge of exactly how many laws the rich and powerful were breaking. What she knew of Sally's mother had been disquieting, to say the least.

But, Hestia was pleased to think, obviously madness did not run in the blood, for this family line, at least (the Blacks and Gaunts were other stories). The Jacksons, notably sane and lacking bigotry, were also perfectly nice, funny, and friendly people. She suspected she'd get along with them more than she did half the members of the Order.

They had spread out to explore the house, Percy breaking away immediately and Sally almost immediately doing the same, Paul following his family's lead a bit later. Luckily, though, the cottage was small enough that her voice could be heard throughout the house, if she raised it loud enough.

Surveying the table one more time with a critical eye, Hestia decided it looked good enough. The least she could do is give them a good meal, for all their troubles.

"Supper's ready!" she called.

Sally and Paul filed in together, Percy following a moment later. After introductions, he had napped on the couch for most of the afternoon, and his hair reflected this, smushed on one side and knotted in the back.

Sally gestured at his face, and he hastily wiped away a string of drool from his chin.

"This looks great," Paul said. "Thanks for throwing this together."

"Of course! Feel free to sit wherever," Hestia said, gesturing rather uselessly at the four chairs settled around the table. Not like there was much variety.

Percy shrugged and slung himself into the nearest seat. Sally and Paul sat on either side, leaving the last seat, closest to the door, for Hestia.

Though they had teased each other earlier, the Jacksons seemed the type to prefer silence, or rather, the type that didn't feel the need to immediately fill silence with chatter. It reminded Hestia of home, both of their parents being mild-mannered researchers and Clio absorbed in her studies.

That is to say, she knew how to start a conversation. Quiet people always had much to say, once given an opening. "Dig in! It's a classic Sunday roast for you lot, as a sort of welcome to this side of the pond. I'd recommend the pastry-looking thing. Yorkshire pudding is a classic for us."

They began to plate their dishes, and Percy eagerly grabbed the gravy, pouring a more than ample amount over his food.

"Gravy," he announced. "How I've missed you."

Sally leaned in and explained, "Percy goes to a summer camp that promotes healthy living. They don't eat much artificial fat or sugar or salt there."

Hestia wrinkled her nose. "Like a fat camp?" She couldn't imagine the lean teen before her needing to diet.

The rest of the table laughed. "We're Americans, but we're not that stereotypical," Paul said.

"Nah, it's more of a military type thing," Percy further explained through a huge grin, still amused at Hestia's question.

"Oh," she said, smiling despite her blush. "That makes more sense. You'll be glad to hear that Hogwarts doesn't have the same policy regarding food."

"What kind of food are we talking?" Percy asked.

"Like this, mostly. Meats and stews and vegetables, though most are fried or roasted. Lots of deserts."

Percy nodded appreciatively, while Sally asked, "Anything else you can tell us about Hogwarts? We didn't find out much information about the school while we were planning our great escape."

That last part was tinged with sarcasm.

Hestia considered her words, searching for useful yet not redundant information. She was sure Dumbledore - or another teacher - would be coming by to give the Hogwarts speech and to figure out which year Percy would enter into. It was lucky that he wasn't yet of age, giving them time to officially enroll him.

"Well, it has four houses, which are groups of students that eat, sleep, and attend classes together," she began. "They're not really mentioned in the orientation talk but they're a big deal. You'll interact with mostly your house, up until about sixth year. There are less students taking each class because of testing requirements, so houses tend to mix."

"Sounds like dorm buildings," Paul remarked. "Is housing at Hogwarts also randomized?"

"No!" Hestia laughed. "Sometimes I wish we had done that, though. We're sorted more by personality. Gryffindor for the brave, Ravenclaw for the wise, Slytherin for the cunning, and Hufflepuff for the loyal."

Confusion was painted across their faces. Hestia tried to explain more. "The idea is that if you're surrounded by people who have the same thinking patterns you do, you'll be able to study, group up, and learn more easily. Like Gryffindors tend to work better when applying their studies to real life, while Ravenclaws do best with hypotheticals and philosophicals."

Paul looked especially horrified. "But in the real world you have to work with people of all different thinking patterns. And the traits you described can change in a person over time. How young are you again when you're sorted?"

"Eleven."

"And how are you sorted? Some kind of survey or interview before school? Or a test where your thought process is put into action?"

Upon reflection, those were really good ideas. "It's actually a magic hat."

"Holy shit!" These words were clearly involuntary.

Sally and Percy laughed at Paul's exclamation, while he buried his head in his hands, mumbling about complexities of the brain and development of personality.

"I notice you two aren't as shocked," Hestia noted.

Sally shrugged. "I'm sure it will set in. I'm just trying to go with the flow until then."

"And I've been in an alternative school before," Percy said. "I'm used to weird teaching methods."

"With those attitudes, I'd peg you both as Ravenclaws," Hestia said.

"That's the smart house, right?" Percy asked.

"I suppose."

Percy laughed. "Then that's definitely not me. I think I've gotten one _A_ in my life, and that was in P.E.."

Hestia frowned. "You'd be surprised. Book smarts aren't everything, take it from an actual Ravenclaw. There are a ton of people in there because they're creative or good with emotions or especially open-minded, like you two have been."

"She has a point," Sally said. "Maybe you really will be there, and you'll finally listen to me when I tell you you're smart."

"Nah, I'll let you and Annabeth be the brainy ones. I'll go to whichever house takes people without them."

Sally's eyebrows rose. "Last I checked, you're not a scarecrow, Percy."

Hestia's confusion must have been very obvious because Paul looked up from his fingers to say, "It's a Wizard of Oz reference. The scarecrow is brainless in it."

"See, Hestia feels my pain," Percy said. He winked at her. "They're both huge English nerds. You're gonna hear about so many books. You'll never want to read again."

The talk turned to a lively discussion about the best of Muggle and wizard literature. Sally was the most animated, waving her hands wildly as she talked about the classics, a mix of serious commentary and jokes thrown in. And though Percy seemed perfectly content with playing a more passive role, quietly reclining in his chair, he occasionally made a joke at one character or another's expense, sounding a lot like her.

Eventually, dinner wrapped up, and quite a while later, conversation wrapped up as well. Sally excused herself to go to the restroom with a good-natured eye roll and reference to the baby, and Percy waved Paul off, volunteering to help clean up.

"I can do this," she said, quietly amused. "And I can do it a lot faster. Magic and all."

He insisted, as a thanks for her work preparing the meal, adding, "Besides, I'm kind of a dish-washing king, though. At camp, it was our director's favorite chore to assign."

"And why did he assign you chores?"

Percy turned to face her, dishes piled in his arms, the picture of innocence. "Especially good behavior?"

"With that tone, I'm sure you were an absolute angel," Hestia drawled.

"Yeah, something like that. How does Hogwarts like to deal with its, uh, angels?"

Hestia wanted to laugh but didn't, noticing Percy's worry. "There's a point system. Breaking small rules could result in the loss of points for your house. Bigger rules, and it could be a detention."

"What about breaking really big rules?" Percy asked, staring at the dishes he was washing, bubbles building up in the sink.

"What are you planning to do?" Hestia was incredulous.

"Nothing. It's just… sometimes weird things happen around me. And a band room gets set on fire. And then I'm expelled. And my mom and Paul won't complain but I know it would be easier on them if they didn't have to worry about finding another wizard school if things go sideways here, too."

Percy was still determinedly not looking at her. He seemed very young, all of a sudden. It was jarring, she'd admit, after watching him act closer to thirty than sixteen all night.

Her voice was soft, when she spoke. "I don't think they will. Weird things are pretty common with wizards. We have a high tolerance for them."

"Maybe not my brand of it."

"You know, Dumbledore, the leader of the Order? He's also Headmaster, and he has a good sense for these things. As long as your heart is in the right place, you'll have a place at his school, if that helps."

Percy began to dry dishes. He really was fast. "Thanks. I can see why you were in the house of the wise."

Hestia's heart warmed at the quiet compliment, and the night went on.

_Diagon Alley_

Sally Jackson took in the streets around her. Though they had left their home to go "in hiding" and had just set up shop in a safehouse, Hestia wasn't adverse to trips outdoors, as long as they still had magical protection.

She was very determined to show them a good time and give them a proper welcome to the world of witchcraft, deciding that their first full day in the country would be spent at Diagon Alley, which was apparently the wizard equivalent to Times Square.

"It's normally a lot more upbeat," Daedalus Diggle, another Order member, was explaining. Hestia had invited him for more protection, though Sally suspected she just wanted to spend some time with a friend. "Not so much now, with _You-Know-Who_ and all."

Sally internally rolled her eyes at the name. Every way of referring to the man sounded like something out of a _Game of Thrones_ knock off.

"Reminds me of home," Percy said lightly.

"True. Boarded up windows, suspicious crowds, wanted posters…" Paul continued. "All we need are the rats, and this is NYC all the way."

Daedalus looked scandalized. "Rats?" he asked cautiously.

Percy smirked, mischief in his eyes. Her son liked to say he never asked for trouble, but not everything could be attributed to the Greek world rearing its ugly head. Sometimes, a little trouble was fun.

"So many. Toilet rats, KFC rats, subway rats, subway pizza rats, baby stroller rats, biting babies rats, uptown rats, downtown—"

"Okay," Paul cut in, noticing the paleness of their companions' faces. "Lots of rats, we get it."

"Come on," Sally said, sweetly. "We haven't even gotten into the bed bugs. Or the cockroaches. Or the alligators in the sewers."

Daedalus made a strangled sort of gagging noise.

Paul tried, "If it helps, the alligator thing is an urban legend."

"Magic's a legend, too. But it's real," Percy added, helpfully.

"You two are killing me," her husband muttered. She and Percy simply high-fived.

"Glad you guys are still having fun," Hestia said, eyeing one of the moving posters. On it, a woman named Bellatrix Lestrange sneered, all wild hair and empty eyes. She was the picture of what Sally would have pictured had she thought 'evil witch.' "This is pretty grim. I hoped to show you the bright side of all this, not more fear."

Daedalus cleared his throat. "We can still be productive, though. Right?"

Hestia's face cleared. "Right. I know the wand shop is still open. Ollivanders, it's called. You can get a wand there, Percy!"

He looked thrilled, in all sarcasm, but forced a small smile, anyway. "Sounds good."

The resident wizards guided their little family down the streets. Sally took special note of the few boarded up stores and the people in purple robes pasting up signs. This was the beginning of a world falling apart, she couldn't help but think, the sentence echoing heavily in her mind. Maybe she'd use it one day, in a novel.

They had taken something called the Floo to get here, stepping into the fireplace and popping out in a quiet antique shop that Daedalus's family apparently owned, drawing little attention in the backend of the area. They were still, after all, trying to avoid being killed or kidnapped by Voldemort. Though she wasn't quite clear on what he would do to them, the general consensus was that drawing his attention did not bode well.

Sally tried to push away the inevitable thoughts of her mother, who apparently had once known the killer. She had been young when she lost her parents but she still remembered her mom curling up in the twin bed Sally slept in to spin fantastic fairy tales, her mom cheerfully letting Sally paint in her studio, even on her works of art, her mom painstakingly braiding her hair. It was hard to believe the same woman might have once believed that people like Sally were dirt.

Even worse, though, was remembering what it felt like to be young and pregnant and scared for your life after falling for the wrong man. Sally could so vividly see her mother that same way, a family line she unknowingly followed, decades later.

Paul squeezed her hand, just gently enough to say he was there for her. Percy trailed right behind, heartbreakingly watchful even here. But nonetheless, they were both _here_, and it was enough for Sally to focus on better thoughts.

After all, this time, she wasn't alone.

The area around them was nicer, a bit more cheerful, as they approached the main drag of Diagon Alley. Hestia and Daedalus seemed happier, too, Daedalus bouncing excitedly when he noticed that the ice cream shop was still, indeed, open. She'd guess they'd be making a stop there.

"Over there's Gringotts, the wizard bank. It's run by goblins." Hestia narrated. "Daedalus, why don't you run in and draw out the funds for the day?"

They were, apparently, to be given free access to Albus Dumbledore's vault. He was also maintaining the rent on their apartment. Sally wasn't exactly thrilled with either call. They could take care of themselves.

He agreed, cheerfully waving to them. Hestia continued. "I figured you'd rather spend your time out here than stuck inside. After your wand, there still is an apothecary you guys can see, a bookstore, and an owlery, if you like birds."

Percy paled. "Owls?"

Hestia nodded. "We use them to send letters."

"Any chance I can pop home and train a subway rat for the job?"

"He's afraid of birds," Sally explained, mentally asking Percy to _please go with this_. "Bad experience with pigeons back home."

"Yep," Percy said, popping the _p_ aggressively. "I fed them once at the park, and they've swarmed ever since."

"No owlery, then," Hestia said smoothly. She picked up her narration as they walked, pointing out the most useful shops and ones they might check out later, eventually announcing that they were approaching Ollivanders.

It was heralded by a peeling sign and a door that didn't fill its frame the right way, very much a hole in the wall like the best bookstores and restaurants were. Sally had a good feeling about it.

Hestia's voice grew hushed as they got closer. She told them she'd wait outside. A wand was something personal for a wizard.

Percy pulled the door open. Sally and Paul walked in first, both squinting to adjust to the dimmer light. Slim, rectangular boxes were everywhere, lined wall to wall, floor to ceiling, like Jenga on steroids. Dust floated aimlessly through the air.

Sally noticed a pair of silver eyes, which quickly became attached to a man. He was older, with wispy, pale hair, reminding her of a mad scientist. Beside her, Paul jumped.

"How strange," the man - Ollivander, Sally assumed - murmured.

He did not continue to speak, so Percy did, his voice cracking in the middle of his question. It was very cute, in her unbiased opinion. "Um, what's strange?"

Ollivander stared at him, intense. Sally stepped in front of her son, uncomfortable with that intensity. This did not deter him. He just stared at her. "Everyone always jumps. Neither you nor your mother did."

"How do you know she's my mom?" Percy asked, voice tense. She was sure he was fingering Riptide inside his pocket.

"Oh, relax!" Ollivander said, suddenly turning away and striding towards the nearest box of wands, the lack of his attention just as disconcerting as his stare. "And you, the jumpy one, feel free to sit down."

He jabbed his wand, causing a pile of boxes to jump up and fall to the ground, revealing a spindly chair. Paul took the cue.

"You're untrusting, I can tell, but I don't know what you think I know. I don't even know what you might be thinking, just that it's different than what I'm thinking. I only know what my wands tell me, and they tell me you both feel the same. Well, your magic does."

Sally found herself nodding, drawn in by the whimsical, yet matter of fact way Ollivander spoke. Mad scientist, indeed.

Then she noticed what he said. "Wait," she blurted. "I have magic, too?"

_Ollivanders: Makes of Fine Wands _

Garrick Ollivander had thought he'd seen it all, but this… this, he'd admit was surprising.

Just one room over, he crafted the wands he sold, feeling the spark of magic in each as he bound cores with wood, giving him an intimate connection to each one. It was a steady thrum in the back of his mind, ebbs and flows as different potential matches walked by or into his store. Today, it was more of a tidal wave, many wands suddenly interested, others shrinking away, as two unmatched wizards walked in, the timid and inflexible wands quieting while the rest roared.

To think that the woman in his shop was unaware of that!

Garrick turned away from the prospects, facing her. "Of course. Did you not know this?"

"Last week, I didn't know any of this existed, so no," she said wryly. "They said it was Percy who had magic."

She jerked her head to indicate the teen next to her, who had thankfully dropped his immediate guard, comfortable enough to peer around his shop. Garrick felt bad for his introductory words. He didn't try to put newcomers so on edge, yet it always seemed to happen.

"My wands don't lie," he replied. "How about I find you one, Mrs. -?"

"Sally is fine," she said, hesitating to step forward.

Her son - Percy, she had said - nudged her. "You should do it," he encouraged.

"Alright. How do we do this?"

Garrick offered a quick explanation as he breezed between piles, listening for the loudest wands, while considering what he could make out of Sally's personality. She was humble, enough so that he ignored a few of the bolder wands clamoring for attention, and possessing a certain amount of intuition, calm and steady in a brand new world.

He focused on that aspect first, handing her, "Black walnut with unicorn hair. Ten inches. Rather willowy. Try waving it."

It was good for the instinctive and insightful. But it wasn't a match, the frequencies clashing in his mind's ear, and Garrick snatched the wand back. Perhaps he needed something even more introspective.

He picked, "Silver lime with dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Stiff."

Good for mind magics and Seers. No match. The wood didn't work at all, but the heartstring wasn't awful, a nice beat that matched Sally's. Something with a bit more bite to it could work.

Next, he tried, "Ash with dragon heartstring. Ten and a quarter inches. Mobile."

Ash suited those that were stubborn and hard to sway, a more steadfast wand. Still, a clamour, though Garrick felt he was getting closer. The ash wasn't entirely uncomfortable, the steadfastness matching, but it wasn't flexible enough. He'd need to find a balance between her intuition and backbone.

Phoenix feather could do the trick, if he found the right wood.

There it was. "Ebony with phoenix feather. Ten and a half inches. Springy."

It sang, a joyful sound that vibrated in his soul. Sally let loose a surprised laugh as a bright light flared, pure white, illuminating the room like a strike of lightning.

He cheered. "Still think you're not a witch?"

Sally's eyes were wide, fixed on the wand. "Give me a minute, and I'm sure I can make a case for it."

She stepped back to the threshold, where Percy and the Muggle were lingering. Both of the men looked awed. Percy whispered something Garrick couldn't quite make out, and Sally pushed him forward.

Garrick quickly got to measuring him, trying to make out what of his personality would most resonate. The wands were quieter, now that there was only one unmatched wizard, and the ones that failed for Sally were just as silent for Percy.

He wasn't sure, though, that her strongest qualities would be his, though it wouldn't hurt to start with Sally's wood. Ebony worked best for non-conformists that would hold to their beliefs, and from what Garrick could make out, the same streak drew similar wands to Percy.

This one did not work, two different songs. It did seem that the boy was… harder than his mother. A different wood could address this, it being, "Fir and phoenix feather. Twelve inches. Flexible."

It had the same strength of purpose but an extra _oomph_ he supposed, working especially well for the resilient. The survivors. It failed, the wand's tempo too slow.

Percy was too changeable for the steadiness of fir or ebony. Next, he tried, "Pine and dragon heartstring. Eleven inches. Stiff."

Pine matched the independent streak that echoed loudly, while dragon heartstring allowed for that malleability which rejected the previous wands. The stiffness could counteract the wilder aspects of the pairing.

The wand immediately rejected him, an awful moan. Garrick wracked his brain, somewhat surprised. He was sure that would fit.

No matter. He pulled several new wands out of their boxes as Percy anxiously drummed his fingers against his leg.

Vine for hidden depths, which the teen certainly seemed to have. Willow for potential. Sycamore for adventure. Walnut for adaptability.

They all failed. Maybe something more combative. Sycamore and walnut both were rather fiery, pointing Garrick in that direction, though he wouldn't have thought it at first. The signs were pointing to, "Blackthorn and dragon heartstring. Thirteen inches and mobile."

Percy waved this, too, and for a moment, the room trembled. The wand _shrieked_, a single piercing cry, before it exploded in a violent burst of light, leaving nothing behind.

"I can pay for that!" Percy blurted, looking mortified.

Garrick blinked. He was somewhat gratified to know that his original instincts weren't wrong. "No need!" he waved Percy off. "It's been a while since something this interesting happened! I love the tricky customers."

He took a moment to explore what he knew. The wands that had been closest to Percy's match had all been highly adaptable, though not necessarily combative. Unicorn hair might work as a solid ground, a nice balance that could hopefully address the steady drum of Percy's own core.

"Redwood and unicorn hair. Thirteen and a half inches. Very flexible."

Again, Garrick heard harmony, another perfect match. Bright light, like his mother's, flashed upwards and out. Percy looked surprised.

He again clapped his hands and congratulated the two of them, wrapping their wands up nicely and explaining payment. Hestia Jones actually came in to provide the Galleons. Apparently, they were friends of her sister, and she was showing them around.

As they left, Garrick began to clean up his shop, noting that he really did need to get some more lights. He hadn't realized how dark it got until Sally and Percy lit it up.

It was strange, though. Not producing the same connection - that ran in families. The Blacks used to all produce gray smoke, for instance - but that particular light. It was familiar. At some point, he had seen that effect once before, a brilliant knifelike jab of concentrated power.

His mind was older than it used to be. And though he could remember every wand he ever sold (or made), Garrick couldn't quite place this.

He continued to work, though, shaking off his unease and vague memories. There were some protections he was hoping to get cast over the store, with everything going on. Ever since the Prophet went public with the return of the Dark Lord, attacks had been increasing every day.

_Privet Drive _

Harry Potter reclined on his bed, examining the letter from every direction. He was sweaty, the smell of grass still lingering, after a long day of garden work.

Things were quiet at the moment, though. His aunt and uncle were going to some Friday night dinner party hosted by a coworker, and Dudley was out with friends, presumably terrorizing the neighborhood's small children.

It was hard to believe. Only five days back, and Dumbledore had already written, promising a pick-up in a mere two days. Not even a full week with the Dursleys!

Harry suspected the quick turn around had to do with the task Dumbledore had alluded to. Though the letter was brief, he mentioned putting some pressing business on hold for a trip abroad. It seemed that Harry would be invited to attend this pressing business.

A thrill of adrenaline ran through him. It had to be related to Voldemort. And though Harry still dreaded what the prophecy meant for him, if it meant he would be working with Dumbledore, not being left in the dark anymore, well… he hoped he could live up to the challenge.

_A/N: _

I've been excited to get to the wands! All of my information about woods and cores came from Pottermore, and if anyone is interested in specifically what Sally and Percy's wands mean, ebony is "happiest in the hand of those with the courage to be themselves" and in the hands of someone "who will hold fast to their beliefs and will not be lightly swayed." Redwood has a reputation of good luck (which I found ironic) and is attracted to people who "possess the ability to fall on their feet, make the right choice, to snatch advantage from catastrophe."

Next chapter is the point where we start to diverge from the _Half-Blood Prince_, and you can look forward to a major chunk with Harry's POV!

Thanks for reading! Your feedback has been wonderful!


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